


Blood and Snow

by StardustAndAsh



Series: Of the Rabbit and the Fox [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Battle Injuries, Canon Typical Violence, Emprise du Lion, Hurt/Comfort, Lavellan has no self preservation, M/M, Mage! Inquisitor, Red Templars, Ëonwë Lavellan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 14:55:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5009026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StardustAndAsh/pseuds/StardustAndAsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan slips when setting up a landmark point into a pack of Red Templars. Dorian doesn't care for the Inquisitor's lack of self-preservation. </p><p>Based on an in game glitch when my idiot Lavellan fell off something into a group of red templars and my party never joined me for the fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Snow

The Emprise du Lion was a lot colder than Ëonwë expected. The inquisition may have been based in a mountaintop fortress, but this was a whole new level of freezing. The whole river, the waterfalls, his toes, everything was frozen solid. Not to mention the icy reception from those left in Sahrnia. At least he could understand people being standoffish after having friends and family members taken without word or warning. Happened in his clan in the Free Marches. Sometimes someone would wander a little too far from camp, other times a scouting party. Sometimes family, but Ëonwë didn't want to think about that right now. Nobody needed an emotional Inquisitor. All they wanted was a prop to look shiny and rally behind. They needed a figurehead, and being that Ëonwë couldn't let his emotions out the way he was used to. He was stuck behind a mask of cold pleasantry. Leliana was coaching him.

"Fasta vass. All this damn snow is going to be the death of me. And my poor boots," Dorian was whining again somewhere behind him.

"We're all just as cold as you, Dorian," said Cassandra in that tone that made it clear she was so very done with all Dorian's complaining.

Ëonwë swallowed an amused smile. He wanted to laugh. Cassandra was so easy to rile up even with the armour she kept around her. Dorian seemed to take particular pleasure in getting under Cassandra's skin, playing up his Tevene heritage just to piss her off. Ëonwë wished he could laugh, but instead he kept on marching. Cassandra had said something about a couple of dangerous mages camping out on one of the small islands in the river, and the Inquisition's scouts reported a fade rift somewhere out on the ice. Ëonwë was hoping to tackle both problems before the sun slipped beyond the tall mountains and bade them set up camp.

The mages weren't hard to find. They were camping at the base of an old lookout tower. They had lit a fire, made camp. Ëonwë really wondered if they were so evil as Cassandra had said. They were joking with each other as the party crept along the ice, silent as a spirit. Ëonwë hated hunting other mages. It felt so wrong, like he was becoming one of those damn templars that Keeper Deshanna warned him about, hunting down mages because they weren't in one of the shemlen chantry prisons. As soon as they popped their heads over the ridge the mages attacked, and then it was kill or be killed anyway.

Ëonwë was startled to see the mages using blood magic. Despite how often he saw it in his time with the Inquisition it always shocked him that people truly used blood magic. It always seemed to be a bedtime story, a monster to keep younger mages in line. Hearing Dorian talk about Tevinter Magisters and seeing all the blood mages in the flesh was something like a nightmare. They made short work of the mages, Dorian's fire magic and Ëonwë's electricity keeping them at bay while Cole and Cassandra dashed in before the mages could let off too many spells.

"Thank you," said Cassandra, wiping the blood off her blade.

Ëonwë felt sick. This was nothing to be thanked for. Even though killing people was something he had to do as the Inquisitor he hated it. He didn't want to be thanked for it.

"Thanks for helping me commit murder on my fellow mage? Tactful Cassandra, very tactful."

It was Dorian who voiced what Ëonwë was thinking. Ëonwë could have kissed the man. Actually he would really like to kiss Dorian anyway, but perhaps in a different place. They were still standing around the ruined camp of mages they had just killed.

They moved on, found the fade rift, closed it easily. The rifts were becoming routine. Ëonwë thought that the Inquisition soldiers could probably just drag him to the rifts while he was sleeping, because sealing them seemed to be second nature now. He just wished that the pain the anchor caused by sealing the rifts would lessen over time as they sealed more, but no such luck. Sealing the rift left his whole forearm painfully numb, pins and needles over every inch of flesh down to his bones. No healing potion would lessen the pain, Ëonwë knew from trial and error, and knew complaining would accomplish nothing.

Instead he set off for the bank of the river, party in tow.He had seen a note by the mages' camp and wanted to check out the location mentioned in it. They found a statue of Fen'Harel, and another note. It wasn't too interesting and they backtracked towards the river. Looking back towards Sahrnia Ëonwë saw a small outcropping in the middle of a waterfall. It looked like a good place to set up a location marker, and there was a sheet of ice that would make a nice bridge over to it.. Without much thought he hopped up onto the ice and made his way to the location. Placing the marker he noticed none of his party had followed him onto the ice bridge. Could the humans in his party not walk as easily on the slippery surface? They were doing fine on the thick ice of the river.

Then he heard voiced behind him. Well, not exactly voices. He'd heard it before though. Ëonwë whirled around and found the group of red templars on the opposite bank of the waterfall. He motioned to his party to follow. Perhaps if he could spy on them a little they might be able to understand what they were up to in the Emprise. He crouched and crept stealthily forward, not paying attention to whether or not Cassandra, Dorian, and Cole were following. He was about to peer over the edge of the ice when it happened. He slipped.

Ëonwë landed none to gracefully on his back and the force of the landing knocked the wind out of his chest. It also drew all the red templars' attention. Having sunk in the snow Ëonwë nearly didn't roll out of the way in time, his movement restricted by the fluffy white substance and the fact that he couldn't breathe. Somehow Ëonwë managed to get to his feet without being beheaded. Another miracle for the Inquisitor, he grinned to himself. From the other side of the waterfall he could hear his party calling for him. No time to answer though as a red templar shield charged him.

He swiftly dodged, swinging his staff in his hands to let out a chain of lightning in order to paralyze the templars for a few moments in order to get some distance between him and them. One he could maybe handle in close quarters, but four? not a chance. Some distance between them and Ëonwë let off another spell, and one templar went down in flames, but the other three closed in and one's well timed thrust sliced through Ëonwë's leather jerkin and brushed against his ribs. Dancing backwards he collided with the spiked shield of another templar. With one hand he whirled his staff and with the other he pulled out a health potion, unstoppering it with his teeth and swallowing it down as fast as possible. Ëonwë felt the wound in his side prickle with the healing. He knew it wouldn't fully heal it, but at least he wasn't going to die of blood loss before the others got there. Where were they? It wouldn't have taken them this long to figure out they could cross the river's ice in order to get to him, right?

Ëonwë suddenly felt nervous. What if Cassandra was holding Dorian and Cole back and this was some kind of test, to prove he was strong enough to be the Inquisitor. If so, Ëonwë was sure he was failing. He couldn't hear them calling anymore. Ëonwë was surrounded now, the snow making it hard for him to get enough distance to properly cast spells. He was resorting to using his staff like a spear, the blade end held in front and desperately wishing he had taken up Keeper Deshanna's offer of teaching him combat without magic.

This close to the red templars he could see the lyrium growing out of their skin in the gaps of their armour. He aimed his blade there and stabbed it in, unnerved that the man's eyes looked dead long before he sunk the vicious curved blade of his staff into the man's throat. One more templar dealt with, but the other two seized the opportunity created by Ëonwë killing their comrade and each struck in that moment. One with a sword through the muscle in his left shoulder, the other with their shield, bashing him hard on his head.

Ëonwë dropped to his knees, ears ringing. Did everyone know how pretty blood looked on snow? It was so bright in contrast, but beautiful too. His fingers fumbled for a health potion, he was sure he had one more. Or had Dorian been carrying the extras? Ëonwë's fingers met no glass flasks. He heard the crunch of snow as the templars advanced in his fallen form, but he had one more thing he was just crazy enough to try. He waited until they were right behind him, before flipping around. He'd timed it right, their swords were just in their downward swing. With palms full of crackling blue electricity he smacked the sides of the blades. Ëonwë's left hand was slower from the wound in his shoulder and the blade bit deep into his palm with the anchor. Biting back a howl of pain Ëonwë emptied his reserves of magic into the electricity flowing from his hands, frying the two red templars in their very conductive armour. It was something Keeper Deshanna told him not to do, it could just as easily rebound back and fry him as well, if the draining of his magic didn't kill him in the first place. It was hard to stop the flow of magic, but with a great mental effort he stopped the magic. It was harder to stop without the intermediary of the staff. The two templars fell into the snow with a muffled thump. Ëonwë swayed and followed them to the ground.

He lay there gasping and shaking with the pain and exhaustion. The others handn't come. No one was there to help him. Ëonwë had the same feeling after waking up in the ruins of Haven, but that was different, then no one was there to help him because he'd ordered them all to flee. He'd been relieved by that knowledge then, it meant everyone got away, that they were safe. Here, it was different, hurtful even. He'd be rushing to the aid of any Inquisition soldier, but his party hadn't come rushing to aid him. Ëonwë rather thought he'd been forgotten, and left to die bleeding in the snow. Did they know Dalish funeral customs? Or would they bury him in the Andrastian fashion because they believed him the Herald of a shemlen god. Would they inform his clan? Ëonwë almost missed the shouts coming from the distance.

"Inquisitor?" Cassandra's voice was shrill, worried. A bit late now, Ëonwë thought bitterly.

"He's over here," Dorian's voice was closer.

Ëonwë blinked and Dorian's face was suddenly all he could see. Did the man know he was so handsome close up? He wondered what that mustache would feel like if they kissed. Would it tickle? Creators he was glad Dorian couldn't hear his thoughts.

"He's alive," said Dorian with a sigh of relief.

"It hurts. Hurts more that they didn't come, where are they? I don't like being alone. He smells like burnt sugar," Cole was digging in his head again.

Ëonwë found it hard to care though. Then he was being lifted, propped up by Dorian as the other mage held another health potion to his lips. Ëonwë drank the soothing potion greedily, feeling the wounds healing as if he'd had a week of rest by the time he finished the potion.

"I'm all right," said Ëonwë, back to Inquisitor mode. He couldn't sulk about the fact that they hadn't come to his aid when he had needed it.

"Are you sure, you may want to look in a mirror, because your hair is rather disgusting with all that blood in it."

Ëonwë felt his long golden hair. It was matted with tacky blood by his right temple.

"Ok, bath, then I'll be all right." Dorian heaved him upright and slung his good arm over his shoulder.

"Dorian it's fine, I can walk back to camp from here."

Though Ëonwë had to admit it was nice to be supported by a handsome man, especially since he was exhausted.

"And deprive me of a chance to hold the great and beautiful Inquisitor? No, I think I'll keep you right here," said Dorian with a grin at Cassandra's glare.

"We should make for Skyhold. I don't think that shoulder will be up for much besides paperwork for a little while," said Cassandra.

It was true that Ëonwë's shoulder was throbbing something fierce. He probably couldn't lift it to use his staff anyway.

"I'm sorry, I know you didn't want to come here twice."

"Nonsense. We should be apologizing to you, those red templars had friends on the river, we should have been quicker to get to you."

Ëonwë felt his heart warm at Dorian's apology. They had been trying to help him, he wasn't alone. All the tension in his body evaporated and he practically melted into Dorian's rather nicely muscled side.

"Woah there," said Dorian, hoisting Ëonwë a little higher.

"Sorry," Ëonwë mumbled.

He let his head fall onto Dorian's chest as they slowly walked back to Sahrnia and the Inquisition camp. He really did smell like burnt sugar, and underneath that was some sort of spice Ëonwë didn't recognize. The walk to camp seemed to take forever, one frozen footstep after the other. Snow started to fall in gentle flurries and the sun was setting just as they made it back to the village. Ëonwë bet that it was quite the pretty picture to look out over the river right now, but all he wanted was a bedroll and some elfroot. He shivered against Dorian and the mage held him tighter. Had he ever told the mage he loved his affinity for fire magic? It made him ever so nice and warm.

"I'm glad you like it," Dorian said in a low, gentle voice.

Distantly Ëonwë was aware of Cassandra barking orders at the Inquisition soldiers, of Cole bringing him a whole elfroot plant, and of a soft bedroll appearing under him. Just when he had lain down Ëonwë didn't know. The delicious heat beside him started to move away, but Ëonwë wasn't having any of that. He reached out for with his good arm, and when his fingertips met soft robes he tugged with all his minimal strength. There was some chuckling and something was said to him as someone combed a hand through his hair. They shouldn't do that, his hair was gross right now. But the warmth was back at his side and the darkness looming at the edge of consciousness was so inviting.

Ëonwë slept through the whole four day journey back to Skyhold. He woke up the day after the party had returned in his own quarters, with a sling on his left arm and bandages wound around his head. He still felt like he'd been kicked by a horse and then forced to run behind the damn beast across all of Thedas. He was never doing magic without a staff again. He was surprised to see Dorian. The other mage had commandeered the comfiest chair in the Inquisitor's room and was reading what looked to be Leliana's spy reports.

"Good morning," said Ëonwë. Actually it was more of a groan, but he'd just been sleeping off magic exhaustion. He could get a free pass.

"Afternoon, actually. It's almost time for supper," Dorian smacked the reports onto the desk to punctuate his speech.

"Good afternoon then."

Dorian accepted with a nod. They lapsed into silence. Dorian was staring at Ëonwë, and while he might happily be stared at by those dark eyes in some other situations, waking up from a four day nap covered in bandages was not one of them.

"Did you know you wouldn't let go of me after we got you to camp. You kept mumbling about me being warm and clinging like a leech."

"Sorry."

"It was quite inconveniencing." Dorian folded his arms.

Ëonwë knew his snuggling wasn't what was bothering Dorian. He liked to think he knew the mage well enough by now, and the mage was pretending to be mad about the snuggling to cover up what he was really mad about.

"Dorian," Ëonwë used the tone he'd use on the children in the clan when they denied doing something naughty.

"Why didn't you get yourself out of there! I know Solas taught you how to fade-step, so why did you fight them!"

Ah there it was. And the honest answer to that question was kind of embarrassing.

"I didn't even think of that. I didn't even think of running away."

"How's it going to look when then Inquisitor dies with the holes in the sky all because he couldn't swallow his damn pride and learn some self preservation."

There it was. Ëonwë's importance to anyone in the Inquisition began and ended with the mark on his hand. The mark that was slowly killing him. Solas had said it would be slower now, he had managed to subdue the mark when the breach was closed, but it would still eventually kill him.

"That's all anyone cares about isn't it. The anchor. If you want to go seal the rifts so badly I'll gladly cut off my arm and give it to you. That way I can go back to my clan. I belong there, not with all you shemlen."

Ëonwë's chest heaved. There was a pressure in his head making him dizzy, probably from sitting upright for so long. Tears pricked his eyes. Admitting he was only as good as his mark out loud hurt more than he thought. As much as he wanted to go home, he also liked being part of the Inquisition and being able to explore the world without looking over his shoulder for templars or slavers. He liked being able to help people. He liked his companions as well, he just wished they might like him back as someone other than the 'elf with the rift sealing mark'.

"Inquisitor," Dorian began, but Ëonwë was sick of being called that.

"Lavellan."

"What?"

"My clan name. It's Lavellan. I hate that I don't have a name anymore. I'm just the Inquisitor."

"Well, Lavellan, I probably won't ever be this nice again, so you should shut up and listen," said Dorian.

Ëonwë nodded mutely.

"You are not just the anchor. You've helped so many people, Hell, five minutes after I met you you faced down a fucking dragon on your own so that everyone else could flee. You have the biggest heart of anyone I've ever met, and if people can only see the glowing green on your hand then they don't deserve you. I didn't mean that I was worried we might lose our chance at sealing the rifts, I was worried we might lose you. You have become something of a friend, and since I have so few I can hardly risk losing one."

Dorian wasn't looking at him now. There was a faint blush in his ears as the man gazed at the ugly blue and gold bedspread.

"You consider me a friend?" Ëonwë could hardly believe his extraordinarily big ears. Could Dorian really be his friend. There was a flutter of hope in his chest, and something a little more.

"Yes, if you can believe it."

"I am honoured!"

Ëonwë felt his face break into the first true smile he'd had since before coming face to face with Corypheus.

"I do believe that is the first time I've seen you smile. You should do it more often, it suits you more than the poker face," said Dorian with a smile of his own.

He reached out and grasped Ëonwë's hand for a brief moment. Ëonwë could feel the callouses on Dorian's hands from his staff, and the softness in them from a life of luxury. But they were strong and warm, and so much bigger than his own. All too soon Dorian stood, taking his warm hands with him.

"I should go inform the healer and your advisors that you've awoken at last. In the meantime, try not to die, I would notice if you were gone."

And with that Dorian strutted his way out of Ëonwë's chambers and was gone. Ëonwë felt like he could get up and dance at that moment. His first friend in Skyhold. His first friend outside of his clan. Oh he couldn't wait to write to Keeper Deshanna, she would be outraged that he made friends with a shemlen, and she might just die of shock when he told her that the shemlen was one of those evil Tevinter magisters she told stories of around the campfire.


End file.
